


Looking at Stars

by Pixxit



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-24
Updated: 2008-01-24
Packaged: 2019-09-15 01:45:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16924191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pixxit/pseuds/Pixxit
Summary: The more things change, the more they stay the same. [future timeline]





	1. Chapter 1

The sidewalks were drenched and shiny beneath neon shop front lights and Oishi shook his umbrella, shrugging further into his coat when a teenaged girl glared at him for shaking water on her.

"Sorry," he said, stepping away from her only to bump into someone else in the crowd.

"Sorry, sorry," he said, lowering the umbrella and ducking under a wide, black and white striped awning. He wiped his face, cursing his umbrella and his own bad luck. Against his better judgment, he'd worked late – skipped dinner – and in addition to being unable to finish the project he'd stayed late to complete, his umbrella had been disinclined to function properly from the moment he'd stepped outside.

He shivered, the wind carrying droplets of ice-cold rain to spatter his collar and the back of his neck and when he glanced at his watch, eyes boggling to realize how late it truly was, his stomach growled. Loudly. Smiling weakly at an old woman passing just in front of him, he turned toward the stand behind him, sniffing the air as though he hadn't eaten in days. Right on cue, his belly rumbled again and he rubbed it idly as he consulted the menu just above him. Gyudon. Pickled ginger. Fluffy, white rice. His mouth began to water and he dropped the cheap, transparent umbrella to rummage through his pockets. He'd missed his train and his umbrella was broken, but he could huddle beneath the awning and gorge himself on beef bowl until such time as the next train would be available.

At least, he could have done so if he'd had something more than two hundred yen in his pocket. Immediately, he remembered his wallet – containing his identification, his cash card & his Suica card - tucked safely inside his suit jacket, which hung safely on the back of his chair. _At work_.

Sighing heavily, Oishi looked around – cold and forlorn – and wondered if he could locate a vending machine before the next train. An energy bar would be better than nothing and he could have hotpot once he was warm and snug in his apartment. It was then, as he longed for his red flannel pajamas and a fresh pot of tea, that he spotted the gut-wrenchingly familiar flash of red, flippy hair across the street and, just like that, his chest tightened and his stomach plummeted.

There, stumbling out of what must have been a bar of some sort, was a man who bore a rather striking resemblance to one Kikumaru Eiji. Older, yes, and changed, certainly – but something in the way his heart beat fast enough to cause him to catch his breath told Oishi that it could be none other. He watched, not blinking, not moving, as the man slung an arm around the man beside him – _another_ redhead, no less – and tipped his head back to howl at the moon. The other man laughed and shoved him even as he reached to steady him again in an attempt to keep him on his feet and Oishi stared, feet in motion of their own accord as he moved against the oncoming crowds of people just to keep the two redheads in his line of vision.

Kikumaru. Gakuto. _Together_.

At the intersection, Oishi was forced to stop and wait for the traffic to pass and as he stood at the crosswalk with his heart lodged somewhere in his throat and the rain steadily falling to soak through his winter coat, the two redheads got into a waiting car and sped off in the opposite direction.

After a few moments, when the light had changed and a crowd of men and women, all dressed as he was dressed and wearing identical expressions of intent, pushed past him without sparing him so much a second glance, that feeling took him over again. The longing and the heartbreak and the certainty that nothing would ever be what he'd always wished it might.

Someone's briefcase struck him in the knee and he yelped, automatic apology just on the tip of his tongue, but the man was already too far away to hear him; he hadn't even glanced at Oishi. That the man should have been the one to apologize never occurred to Oishi as he assumed he deserved no less for blocking the walkway on such a miserable, rainy evening when people were in as much of a hurry to get home as he'd been only moments before. That it might have been Eiji, after all this time, seemed too coincidental and convenient and Oishi sighed again as he began to move with the crowd once more. He kept to the inner edge of the sidewalk, nearest to the buildings he passed, and bent to rub his throbbing knee once or twice.

At the gyudon stand, he retrieved his broken umbrella and hooked it over one arm in preparation for the walk to the station. Perhaps whatever was wrong with it would be easily fixed and Oishi didn't feel right about abandoning it without attempting to salvage it, first. It was wet and brushed his pants leg with every step he took and, more than ever, he longed for a hot shower and his pajamas.

The train station was busy, even after rush hour, and Oishi allowed himself to be carried along with the pull and sway of the crowd as he went through the motions of purchasing a ticket, moving through the gate and attempting to locate a car that wasn't packed with wet, smelly people. The lines at the platform weren't too bad and Oishi surmised that many people weren't quite ready to return home yet. Even after a long day at work, many people preferred to meet friends for dinner or do a bit of shopping or any of a dozen other interesting, social sorts of things that Oishi simply had no desire to do. Such thoughts brought about a fresh wave of longing and loneliness and Oishi wished so that he'd been able to cross that street earlier and call out for Eiji, whether it had turned out to be him or not. Sometimes Oishi grew weary of always playing it safe, of never taking even the smallest chance.

He shivered, glancing at the destination signs and startling when his mobile buzzed in his pocket. Not bothering to check to see who was calling, he answered quickly, breathlessly, happy to be on _someone's_ mind, at least.

"Oishi."

It was Inui.

"Ah, Inui. How are you?" he asked, somehow unable to believe his good fortune when he saw how short the line to Yokohama was. He hurried, weaving in and out of small groups of people, spirits lifted when he realized how close he was to bringing his awful day to a close.

"Well enough," Inui responded. "I was thinking of going out for a drink and wondered if you might be interested."

"Tonight?" Oishi asked, his feelings on the subject rather evident in the tone of his voice. There was an awkward sort of pause before Inui spoke again.

"Yes, tonight. If it wasn't tonight, I probably wouldn't have called tonight, Oishi."

Hefting his briefcase and his umbrella and swearing that, tomorrow, he'd bring along the knit cap his mother had made for him last New Year no matter how ridiculous he looked, Oishi laughed and stepped up behind an old woman in line.

"I'm afraid I can't make it tonight, Inui. I'm about to get on the train."

Inui made some noncommittal sound, but didn't answer right away, and Oishi suspected that Inui had only called on him because no one else wanted to go out with him.

"Perhaps Kaidoh?" he suggested, but Inui cut in quickly.

"He said 'no'."

"Momo?"

"He's on a luxury cruise with his parents."

Oishi made a face, unsure as how to respond to such a statement. How creepy to take a luxury cruise with one's parents...

"Tezuka?"

"He's not answering," Inui said. "He wouldn't go, in any event. I felt certain that you would accept, Oishi. You don't usually have plans."

Frowning, Oishi heard the train approach and decided that he wouldn't feel bad for cutting Inui off for his being so insensitive. "I have to go now, Inui. The train is here."

"Ah, I see. Perhaps-"

"Goodnight, Inui," Oishi said, experiencing just the smallest bit of vindication when he ended the call before Inui had the chance to respond. He slipped the phone back into his pocket and grimaced when he tripped over the platform and made his knee begin to ache anew. He couldn't help wondering what in the world that man had been carrying in his briefcase to have hurt Oishi's knee to such an extent. Rocks? Metal? Billiard balls?

He nodded a greeting to a young woman who stood next to the window opposite Oishi. His smile faded, however, when she crossed both arms over her chest and glared at him.

"Can you read?"

Glancing around nervously to find that the women around him were all staring at him expectantly, Oishi felt his face grow hot. "I'm sorry?"

"Women _only_ , you pervert. Or did you not notice the sign?"

Swallowing hard, Oishi snuck a look at the ancient woman in the seat just beside him. She paid him no mind and Oishi turned his attention back to the angry young woman with the two high ponytails and cute little scowl.

"I...suppose I didn't, I apologize," he began, but the girl only pursed her lips and wrapped her coat tightly around herself.

"You just keep your filthy hands to yourself, understand?"

Bowing his head, Oishi decided that it would be better not to mention that he was certain the 'women only' rule didn't apply at this hour of the day. As he appeared to be the only man in the immediate vicinity, he thought it wise to simply keep his mouth shut in the interests of an uneventful trip home. He nodded, making a show of shoving his free hand deep into his pocket, and turned away. She couldn't know how he felt or what thoughts were his that evening. Groping strangers on a crowded train, no matter how young and pretty, was the furthest thing from Oishi's mind. At that moment, and well into the night, his thoughts were central to one person. One emotion.

Staring silently at the train's floor, every rhythm – people shifting, the sound of the train and the drone of the passengers – carried the same syllabic pattern. No matter that he knew it was all in his mind; it didn't change the litany of his thoughts.

_Kikumaru Eiji. Kikumaru Eiji. Kikumaru Eiji._

Later that night, just as he was finishing off a cup of tea and preparing to admit defeat where his umbrella was concerned, his space heater stopped working. There was no sound inside his tiny apartment. He was cold and, outside, the rain continued to fall long into the night. The raindrops against his window offered their own sort of pattern and as Oishi settled into his blankets in search of some manner of comfort, that same rhythm lulled him into a light, restless sleep.

_Kikumaru Eiji. Kikumaru Eiji. Kikumaru Eiji._

 

☆ ☆ ☆

The next several days passed in a blur of late evenings, missed dinners, and general work frustration. Oishi's section chief was not an easy man to please and he seemed to mistake Oishi's reticence for weakness. Challenging him at every turn, sometimes to the point of mockery and hurtfulness, he seemed almost happy to deliver the ultimatum to Oishi that particular afternoon: a two day extension to complete his project or _else_.

As was his way, Oishi could only nod his understanding and turn back to the mess his desk had become and, even as he cursed his boss under his breath, he didn't allow himself to dream of the day that he might be free of the job that he hated. Beyond that, he didn't allow himself to think of Eiji, either. Or of Mukahi Gakuto.

It was nearing ten p.m. when he finally sat back in his chair to observe the open file before him. At this rate, he wouldn't need two full days and once he impressed the right people with his work, he would be free of his boss and of the people he worked with. Perhaps he would advance quickly and find a niche within the company that suited his style and his personality. Perhaps he'd make a few friends and stop missing his old ones so much. So great was his desire to succeed and be happy with the path he chose that Oishi hesitated to wish for it too greatly. He knew, from plenty of experience, that wishing only led to disillusionment. And disillusionment only led to heartbreak.

Outside on the street, the sky was dark and clear and the breeze that ruffled the tips of his scarf didn't penetrate his coat this time. The streets were less busy and he felt far less stressed than he had over the past few days. Having snacked in the office a little past eight, Oishi found that he was not hungry but that he could certainly do with a drink or two to unwind before he returned home to his small, silent apartment. A couple of drinks alone wasn't anything that most people would consider a happy event, but Oishi wasn't most people. As used to his solitude as he had become, the chance to relax and clear his head of work-related thoughts could be precisely what he needed to put things into perspective. Things like Kikumaru's near-constant presence in the back of his mind and the dull, heavy ache in Oishi's chest that seemed to sharpen every time he recalled the friendship that used to be theirs but was no more.

He walked along the sidewalk, passing restaurants, stands, shops and the sort of bars that he knew would suit his purpose until he found himself standing before the building he'd seen his must-be-Eiji days before. Looking up, the building had no windows that Oishi could peek through and there was no lettering on the door to give any indication as to the sort of establishment it was. Shifting his briefcase from one hand to the other, Oishi approached the plain, black door and turned the knob slowly. It was not the welcoming sort of door one typically noticed in a public place and so Oishi felt his hesitation was warranted.

Inside the first door was a small alcove with only a couple of plain, high-backed chairs and a lacquered podium. He'd begun to think that perhaps it was a restaurant, after all, until a very thin, very handsome young man sauntered over to lean against the podium. Blond, flawless skin, odd light-brown eyes – his dress was impeccable and his make-up so well-done so as to appear natural, he swept Oishi with a slow, appraising glance.

"Can I help you?" he asked, tucking one hand casually into his pocket. His lips were shiny with some neutral shade of gloss and Oishi licked his own lips absently.

He smiled nervously and held his briefcase before him with both hands. "Ah, yes. I...er...I mean, I suppose I was wondering..."

Clearly amused, the young man continued to gaze at Oishi, waiting patiently for him to get to the point.

Oishi went on. "That is to say, I saw someone come out of this building the other day and I couldn't get to him in time. I really wanted to talk to him and I guess I'm just wondering what sort of bar this is since I've never really paid attention before."

Head tilted in near-intent scrutiny, the young man parted perfect pink lips and said, "Do you have an invite, then?"

"Invite?" Oishi echoed. "Why would I need an invite? I'm not even sure..."

The young man – boy, really – giggled and pointed to the sign that hung just above the door behind him.

_Private – By invitation only._

"Sorry, but this is a private club. If you're not exclusively invited by someone who's already a member, I'm afraid you can't come in."

Blinking in confusion, Oishi felt the tips of his ears redden and he wished, no matter how badly he wanted to confirm the suspicion that it had indeed been Eiji he'd seen that day, that he'd never stopped to enter this place.

"I...I don't know anyone who might..."

He fell silent, disheartened and embarrassed, and the young man leaned over to pat Oishi's arm reassuringly. "Don't feel badly about it. This doesn't strike me as your kind of place, anyway."

Nodding, Oishi took a step back, face burning with humiliation. With one hand on the door, however, he froze when a familiar voice halted him directly where he stood.

"Junpei-kun! The bar's not going to tend itself, you know!"

Just as slowly, Oishi turned again and, when he spoke, his voice was barely audible.

"Eiji..."

The boy beamed a big smile, then, and shook his head. "You know Kikumaru-san? Why didn't you just say so?"

Still hesitant, Oishi could only take a few hesitant steps toward the next entrance. Was it really all right? Perhaps he should have simply left well enough alone. The boy turned then, smiling over his shoulder at Oishi.

"Are you coming? Oh! And what's your name?"

"Oishi Shuuichirou," he said, following along even as his heart seemed to skip a beat with every other step he took. "Look, he's not expecting me and...maybe..."

But Junpei-kun was already waving to Kikumaru from just inside the doorway and Oishi knew that any possible escape, if he'd wanted to escape in the first place, was no longer one of his options.

"Kikumaru-san, someone's here to see you," the boy said, blocking Oishi's view of the room.

"Since when does Gakkun merit an announcement, eh?" Kikumaru laughed. "Didn't I tell you last week that his ego is big enough already?"

But then Junpei moved aside and Oishi stepped forward. It was difficult for him to speak, faced with Kikumaru after so much time had passed, but the words seemed to come of their own volition.

"It's not Gakkun, Eiji," he said, voice quiet and sounding like someone not himself. "It's _me_."

Lounging on a plush loveseat – slouching and legs spread – Kikumaru turned in the direction of Oishi's voice and stared. The pretty girl at his side, dressed provocatively and clearly unhappy at having lost Kikumaru's undivided attention, narrowed her eyes at Oishi though she held her tongue quite admirably.

" _Oishi_?" Kikumaru stood, wide-eyed with surprise. "It's really you? What are you _doing_ here?"

Having no idea as to what he'd intended to say, Oishi could only stare, taking in the sight of Kikumaru close-up, _finally_.

"I saw you," he began, glancing around nervously to find that several pairs of eyes were on him. "Coming out of this building a few days ago." He swallowed nervously, continued. "At least, I thought it was you. And I needed to find out if it was. I just..."

He hesitated, taking hold of his resolve and speaking clearly. "I wanted to see you again."

Dressed all in black, but for the pale pink shirt and black and pink pinstriped tie, Kikumaru was leaner, taller, well-muscled beneath his well-tailored clothing and filled out his jacket to a degree that Oishi had never quite allowed himself to imagine. He wore a delicate silver chain around his neck though Oishi could not make out the charm that hung beneath his shirt collar. His hair was shorter, though he seemed completely unable to tame the curl that made it flip up at the ends and in the back. Now, however, it was less playful, less childish than Oishi remembered. Now, it was well-styled and flattering. Even now, despite the time that had passed and the strangers to one another that they'd become, Oishi could admit that Kikumaru was still the prettiest man he'd ever seen.

They stood, the two of them, staring at one another for long moments. Oishi began to feel overly warm, he began to sweat. He could feel the women – the _hostesses_ , he realized – staring at him as intently as Kikumaru was staring at him and he cleared his throat nervously.

"If it's not a good time..." he began, awkwardly, but Kikumaru was already hopping over the small table between them.

"Oishi," he breathed, arms tight around Oishi when he rested his chin on Oishi's shoulder. He didn't seem to care that a roomful of people were staring or that Oishi's briefcase was trapped between them or that Oishi was too shocked to hug him back.

The room smelled like cigarette smoke and women's perfume but all that Oishi was aware of was Kikumaru, warm and solid and smelling faintly of expensive cologne and _Eiji_.

Squeezing him even tighter, Kikumaru laughed and hauled him to his tiptoes, the ends of his hair brushing Oishi's cheeks just the way it did when they were kids. When they were _partners_.

"I've missed you, Oishi," he said, loud enough that those nearby could hear every word he spoke. "I've missed you so much!"

Near the bar, two hostesses huddled close to one another – holding hands and only barely able to maintain their glee at the picture Oishi and Kikumaru made together.

"I've...I've missed you, too," Oishi told him, marveling at how easy an admission it was. "I can't believe it's you, to be honest."

"Junpei!" Kikumaru yelled, one arm tight around Oishi's shoulders when he half-turned toward the bar. "Get my friend a drink, ne? A really good one!"

Smiling now, and happy enough to agree to drink just about anything, Oishi allowed Kikumaru to take his briefcase and lead him toward the loveseat. Shooing his pretty companion away, Kikumaru fluffed a pillow and gestured for Oishi to sit beside him.

Oishi sat, taking in the club's decor as he did so. There were card tables and leather booths, a raised area near the back that he supposed could have served as a stage, though he doubted it had ever been used for any thespian-related activities. On the walls hung large purple and blue canvasses decorated with long, rust-colored streaks that appeared to run like oil and pool near the bottom of the canvas. Oishi had always hated modern art. Kikumaru had always loved it. Here and there were black and white pictures of men Oishi didn't recognize. Past and present members, he assumed, though one stood out to him almost immediately. Displayed in an ornate, baroque-style frame was a picture of Kikumaru, eyebrows raised, expression leering – Oishi imagined that Kikumaru considered that particular image to be quite debonair.

"This calls for a celebration," he said, beaming a smile at Oishi and effectively garnering his attention again.

Before Oishi could offer him a smile in return, however, another familiar voice chimed in from just at Oishi's back.

"What are we celebrating?"

Oishi turned his head to see and, there in the doorway, stood Mukahi Gakuto.

"It'd better be something good because we just lost a whole fucking lot of money."

"Gakkun!" one of the girls squealed, waving at him from her seat at the bar. He spared her a quick glance and the smallest of smiles before stalking over to the chair opposite Kikumaru and sitting down heavily, petulantly. As an afterthought, he snapped his fingers at the girl who'd been so happy to see him.

"Aya-chan, bring me a bottle of Louie."

One of the other girls squealed her approval at both his choice of drink and the manner in which he requested it just as a pretty, petite hostess handed Oishi his drink with a timid smile. Despite his disinterest, Oishi found himself smiling in return, bashful but pleased with himself when she blushed and giggled behind her hand. He'd never had that particular effect on a woman.

"What are you talking about," Kikumaru asked Gakuto then and Oishi turned his attention back to the pair of redheads, free to observe them as they talked business.

Taller than he'd been the last time Oishi had seen him – though not by much – Gakuto's hair was shorter and slicked away from his face. His features were sharp, his dress non-descript but of obviously high quality. The sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose were very dark and quite trendy. Oishi realized that Gakuto had yet to notice him.

Gakuto loosened his tie, jerking it free of the tight knot at his neck. "The Saizen deal. Old bastard backed out at the last minute and we're out three billion."

"But you said it was a done deal!" Kikumaru said, scooting to the edge of his seat, his body language suggesting that he was ready to spring into action at any moment.

"Well I was wrong, wasn't I?" Gakuto demanded, flinging an impatient glance toward the bar. "I mean it happens sometimes, Eiji. I can't _always_ be right."

He sat back, then, closing his eyes and heaving a great sigh, somehow able to take the glass proffered him and bring it to his lips. "Set the bottle on the table and plant your ass right here," he told the hostess, patting his knee.

Oishi watched, transfixed, as the hostess sat gracefully in Gakuto's lap while he took long, blissful sips from the glass she'd given them. Kikumaru glanced over once, caught him staring and grinned at him. Oishi blushed and looked away.

"Oh, well. Easy come, easy go," Kikumaru said. "We can talk about that later, Gakkun, look who's here with me! It's Oishi!"

With one hand pressed against the hostess' belly and the other occupied with his near-empty glass of brandy, Gakuto peered at Oishi through his dark glasses.

"Hm. So it is," he finally allowed, motioning to have his glass filled again. Oishi wondered if perhaps Gakuto had a drinking problem and, if he did, whether or not it had rubbed off on Kikumaru. "This is a surprise. How have you been, Oishi? Not too great judging by the look of you. Is that coat second-hand?"

"Oh, well...I..." Oishi began, but fell silent when Kikumaru slapped his thigh.

"Don't answer him, Oishi, he's just being a dick." To Gakuto he said. "I buttered that old man up good and proper, Gakkun, for _weeks_. If the deal fell through I say it's your fault."

"Beh," Gakuto muttered. "I guess you didn't use enough butter, _Kiku-chan_."

Oishi sipped his wine-spritzer and didn't contribute anything to the conversation. From his vantage point, it seemed that the conversation was about to become an argument. Oddly enough, such suspicion lent the whole scene a sense of normalcy.

"Yeah? Well, you'd know all about using enough _butter_ , wouldn't you, _Gakkun_?"

For long moments, no one spoke and though Oishi knew that Kikumaru had considered his last statement to be incredibly witty and insulting, Gakuto clearly didn't share his sentiment.

"What does that even mean?" he asked, draining his glass and setting it down with a hard thunk. "Sparring with you is like arguing with a nine-year-old," he groused, smacking the hostess on her bottom and motioning her off his lap. "This is pointless. I'm irritated and getting a headache and I'm going home, Kikumaru."

He held out his arms and allowed the coat-check boy to help him into his coat even as he fished out a few notes for Aya-chan. She took them with a big smile and a sweet murmur of appreciation and sat down in the seat that Gakuto had vacated.

Gakuto stuffed his fedora onto his head and tilted it to an almost ridiculous angle. "You'd better make it an early night. We have a lot of work to do tomorrow if we're going to salvage any of the work we've wasted over the past few weeks."

Scowling, Kikumaru snuck a glance at Oishi, clearly reluctant to part ways so soon. "Yeah, okay," he finally said. "Hold on and I'll ride with you."

Ignoring Gakuto's grumbling, Kikumaru turned to face Oishi, already fishing in an inside pocket of his coat. "We probably won't wait until tomorrow, knowing him," he told Oishi in a low voice. "But I want to see you again, Oishi. Soon."

He offered Oishi a card, taking his hand and patting it several times before squeezing once and letting go. "I mean it. I don't want to lose touch with you again. It's just not right."

Nodding his agreement, Oishi wet his lips with the tip of his tongue. He could say it, he knew. He could invite Kikumaru home with him or he could invite himself to Kikumaru's. They could be alone, they could catch up, Oishi could hold Kikumaru's hand, kiss his pretty pink mouth, confess his long-secret love and maybe....

"While I'm still young, Kikumaru," Gakuto barked, buttoning up his coat and appearing petulant and impatient.

Growling his irritation, Kikumaru flipped him off, but then turned back to Oishi with a sweet smile. "Promise me, Oishi. That you'll call on me soon."

Oishi could only nod quickly, looking up at Kikumaru when he hopped to his feet. Leaning over Oishi, Kikumaru tugged on his tie and winked. "Don't make me come looking for _you_ , this time."

Blushing hotly, Oishi climbed unsteadily to his feet and found his voice. "I won't," he promised.

Oishi's glass was cold in his hand and still half-full. His briefcase leaned against the loveseat and Kikumaru's card was like fire between his fingers. He was excited, disappointed and jealous – all at once.

From the doorway, Kikumaru pointed at him. "Soon," he said again.

"Soon," Oishi repeated. And then he and Gakuto were gone and Oishi was alone with a roomful of women, a handful of older club members playing poker near the back of the room and a pretty ladyboy named Junpei. He felt about as comfortable as he might if he'd been wearing a dress and dancing the can-can.

"Ah..." he said, catching Gakuto's hostess' gaze and handing her his drink. "I should really be going now."

From behind the bar, Junpei laughed good-naturedly. "Of course. Don't be a stranger, ne, Oishi-san?"

Oishi smiled as he made his way to the door, bowing his thanks once or twice as he met a few of the hostess' eyes. He couldn't say that he wouldn't be a stranger, though. Truthfully, he'd never felt quite this strange in his entire life.

☆ ☆ ☆

"I can't believe you didn't ask him to come home with you," Gakuto said, waiting for Kikumaru to get out of the car and join him on the steps.

Bending to peer inside the car, Kikumaru waved to their driver. "Goodnight Takahisa. See you tomorrow!"

Slamming the door, Kikumaru turned to glare at Gakuto as their driver pulled away from the curb. "You shut up," he said, stalking past Gakuto and climbing the steps alone, determined to stay at least a few inches ahead. It wasn't difficult – Gakuto had such stumpy little legs that he usually refused to compromise his dignity by scurrying alongside Kikumaru in attempt to keep up. "You were mean to him, anyway. I wouldn't subject him to an entire car ride with you."

Rolling his eyes, Gakuto lunged to be the first to push the elevator's button, flashing Kikumaru a snide smile when he succeeded. " _Mean_ to him? Are you serious? How old are you?"

"Shut up," Kikumaru said again. "I can't believe I saw him tonight, Gakkun," he said, dreamy-eyed and apparently happy to forget the screeching fight they'd had in the car on the way home. "Did you see how handsome he looked? His hair was so nice and his eyes were so pretty."

Sighing heavily, Kikumaru smiled to himself and ignored Gakuto's scowl.

"If his eyes were so pretty, why didn't you take him home?"

As quickly as it had appeared, Kikumaru's smile vanished. Pouting now, he toed at the carpet with one shoe and didn't look at Gakuto. "It's not like that between us. It never was."

"So?" Gakuto demanded, pushing the button again – what was that idiot attendant doing up there? – "You're single and he wasn't wearing a ring. Everybody knows how gay you two were for each other back at school – why are you still fighting it?"

"Like you have any room to talk," Kikumaru spat, eyes flashing. "What with you and your _Yuuuuushi_ always making eyes and acting like tomcats in heat."

The doors opened then, before Kikumaru had even finished speaking and Oshitari offered the two of them a slow, sugary sweet smile. Gakuto scowled and pushed past Kikumaru and into the elevator.

"Did I hear my name?" Oshitari asked, straightening his jacket and polishing a brass button with the tip of one gloved finger.

"No," Gakuto said at precisely the same time Kikumaru said, "Yes."

"I distinctly heard my name being used in conjunction with 'tomcat'. I suppose I'm flattered," he said.

Gakuto snorted. "Don't be. You look like an idiot. And I'm going to call your father tonight and tell him what you've been doing in your spare time."

Oshitari merely smiled and held out a little basket of mints, to which Kikumaru helped himself with a happy little sound.

"I'm only doing as my father asked, Gakuto. Researching some of the family businesses and holdings. He'll congratulate me on my very insightful approach, I assure you."

"You're cosplaying a bellboy," Gakuto said. Oshitari smiled again.

"To the untrained eye, it might appear that I'm cosplaying a bellboy, but I must assure you that I'm gleaning invaluable information about this particular complex."

"Oh, yeah?" Gakuto sneered. "Like what? Like how to sneak a maid up here and bang her in the corridor while residents are in the lobby _waiting for you to pick them up_?"

"Noooo," Oshitari demurred. "Like your sweet little Mami-chan has several gentleman suitors who reside here – two of them on the same floor – and that whenever she leaves your apartment, she removes that lovely bracelet you gave her and puts on another…”

"I hate you," Gakuto said, leaning past Oshitari to punch the eleventh floor button several times. "Stop spying on me and go play with Atobe. You were always so good at that."

The doors opened then and Gakuto stalked out – head held high – and Kikumaru hung back with Oshitari as they watched him struggle with his key.

"That's the best exit he's had in a while," Kikumaru told Oshitari in a low aside, stealing another mint. "Thanks for letting him have it."

"My pleasure," Oshitari murmured, chuckling under his breath as Gakuto slammed the door behind him. "He's in a foul mood; did something happen today?"

"Yeah," Kikumaru began mournfully. "The Saizen deal fell through."

"That's too bad," Oshitari said. "Gakuto was counting on that one. He's been eyeing a few of the new German imports."

"Che. He's got too many cars as it is," Kikumaru said. "He doesn't even drive them. He hires other people to drive them _for_ him."

Oshitari inclined his head, appearing to consider Kikumaru's words until he continued.

"Oh, but guess who I saw today."

"Who?"

"You'll never guess," Kikumaru said, eyes bright.

"Hamasaki Ayumi?" he asked hopefully.

"No!" Kikumaru denied, digging in his pocket for the tip that Oshitari certainly didn't need. "Oishi. I saw Oishi today!"

"Hm," Oshitari hummed, accepting Kikumaru's money with a respectful incline of his head. "That does sound promising. Did you get his number?"

"No, but I gave him mine. Yuushi. He wasn't wearing a wedding ring."

"Is that so?" Oshitari asked, tucking the tip into a tiny front pocket. "To the victor go the spoils, then, ahn?"

Holding out his hand, Kikumaru grinned when Oshitari bumped his fist, one conspirator to another. "Good luck to you, too."

☆ ☆ ☆

Oishi scrubbed at his eyes, suppressing a yawn and taking a big gulp of his now-cold coffee. He'd stayed awake too late the night before, thinking about Kikumaru and the obviously close relationship he shared with Gakuto. While he couldn't really have speculated as to whether or not there was anything other than friendship and partnership between them, Oishi found himself in the very uncomfortable position of almost wishing that there were. If there had ever been something sexual between them, it gave Oishi hope that he might have a chance, also.

Chin propped on the heel of his hand, he stared blankly at his screen and allowed his thoughts to wander. Kikumaru hugging him, so strong and real and warm against him. Kikumaru so happy to see him, making Oishi promise to call him soon – it had been the way Oishi had always wished it would be between himself and Kikumaru. It was enough to make him wonder if there couldn't be still more lurking beneath the surface.

"Oishi-san?"

Startled, Oishi sat up straight, knocking over his paper tray and scrambling to grab it before it fell and knocked over his coffee mug. He glanced up once or twice while he righted his workspace again and smiled weakly at the pretty girl who stood nearby, waiting patiently. Her name was Narita and she was the section chief's personal assistant. A quiet, well-liked woman, Narita had joined Oishi for lunch on more than occasion and he'd always enjoyed their conversation and her surprising sense of humor. He'd often thought that, had he been able to form a romantic sort of attachment with a woman, she'd have made him the perfect wife.

"Ah, sorry, Narita-san. I was..."

 _Daydreaming about a man_ , he finished silently.

"It's fine, Oishi-san," she told him, standing patiently by with her fingers linked before her. "Matsumoto-san would like to see if you have a moment."

Standing, Oishi ran a self-conscious hand down the front of his shirt to smooth his tie and nodded his agreement. "Of course," he said, offering her a gentle smile. For a moment, Oishi thought she would smile at him, in return, but then she turned away, appearing troubled. He watched her go, puzzled at her behavior, and wondered if something were bothering her.

His boss' door was open, but he knocked, nonetheless. "Matsumoto-san?"

"Come in," his boss said, motioning for him to close the door behind him. "Have a seat, Oishi."

Immediately suspicious, Oishi lowered himself into one of the chairs before Matsumoto's desk and folded his hands in his lap. Within moments, he began to wring them nervously; he was sweating. Dearly hoping that his boss wasn't about to ask for a progress report, Oishi smiled encouragingly and hoped he didn't look as green about the gills as he felt.

Sitting back in his chair, Matsumoto took a deep breath, steepled his fingers over his considerable belly, and closed his eyes. Already dreading what his boss was intending to say, Oishi waited silently, barely daring to breathe. Behind him, the clock on the wall ticked away second after second after second and still Matsumoto didn't open his eyes. Lifting one hand to his lips, Oishi caught himself just before he began gnawing at his fingernails and quickly folded his hands in his lap again. Whatever news his boss had to impart, Oishi reasoned that it couldn't be good. Not if he were taking this long simply to strengthen his resolve.

"Matsumoto-san?" he spoke up timidly, leaning forward in his chair until his boss snorted and sat suddenly upright. Gripping the arms of his chair, he stared at Oishi, eyes wide with confusion.

"What? What's happened?" he said, words running together, voice thick with... _sleep_?

"Er...nothing. Nothing yet, that is," Oishi told him, attempting to school his expression. His boss had fallen asleep with him sitting right there. Had requested his presence and promptly fallen asleep. Oishi's shoulders slumped. "Is everything all right?"

Clearing his throat once and then again, Matsumoto pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped his face, his shiny, balding head, and then coughed into the cloth before stuffing it back into his pocket. "Yes, yes. Now where was I?"

Before Oishi could remind him, he cleared his throat again. "Oh. No, Oishi. Things aren't all right at all."

Blinking slowly, Oishi sat precisely where he was. He didn't move a muscle; he had a very bad feeling about the entire situation. "I know I've taken longer than you expected with the Takiguchi audit, but I can promise you that-"

Holding up a hand to forestall any further blubbering on Oishi's part, Matsumoto began to toy with a paperclip on the desk. "Now, now Oishi. Don't make this more difficult than it has to be."

Oishi paled – could feel all the blood in his head drain to the soles of his feet – and licked his suddenly dry lips.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to end your employment with KPMG. You're simply not meeting our standards and, frankly, I don't think you're happy here."

"But I am!" Oishi interrupted. "I am happy here. I'm very happy, in fact!"

Matsumoto grimaced, as though the entire scenario made him nauseous. "I'm afraid the decision's already been made, Oishi. Clean out your desk and turn in your badge at the front desk. I've negotiated two weeks severance for you."

Stunned, though he knew he should have expected nothing less, Oishi stared down at his hands and shook as head as though he just couldn't understand where it had all gone wrong. He was a failure – had been fired from his job! – he lived in a tiny apartment, he was unmarried – he'd only had sex with one woman his entire life – and was still embarrassingly, ridiculously, one-hundred percent still head over heels in love with an old schoolmate. A _man_. Oishi knew that if his grandfather were alive to see him now, he'd be too ashamed to so much as lecture him.

Swallowing hard, Oishi brushed the back of one hand across his eyes and forced himself to meet Matsumoto's eyes. "What about the Takiguchi project? I'd planned to finish the paperwork tonight."

Waving his hand dismissively, clearly uncomfortable being forced to witness Oishi's obvious upset, Matsumoto looked away. "Just leave your files open; I'll get Narita on them this afternoon."

That was it, then. Oishi nodded, eyes wet with unshed tears, and stood slowly. He wouldn't shed another tear inside this building, he vowed. Straightening his shoulders, Oishi bowed stiffly before turning to go. The floor was infirm, unsteady, beneath his feet but he walked with his head held high. He'd lost his job, but was determined to hold onto to whatever dignity he had left.

Narita was there, waiting at his desk. She held a box in her arms – dirty white cardboard with dark green goya stamped all around it – and her eyes were huge and deep with unspoken sympathy.

"Oishi-san," she whispered, ignoring the pointed stares of the other people in the office. "I'll help you pack."

"You don't have to," he began, but she shook her head so hard that long strands of her hair thwapped her in the face.

"I'll help you. I want to."

Oishi relented, allowing her to hold the box while he collected the few personal articles he kept at work. On his desk was a framed picture of his parents and his sister, the leather date book his father had given him when he'd graduated college, the Sasuki Sadako book he'd been reading off and on during his lunch breaks (Kano from the mailroom had laughed at him for crying at his desk, once – Oishi had been incredibly offended), his Sweet J-Ballads c.d. and a lint roller. In his desk drawer was a half-pack of ginger chews, two of his best fountain pens, some loose coins, a flyer for a play he'd wanted to see, but never had and – at the back of the drawer – was a dog-eared photo of himself and Kikumaru. Taken during Nationals their junior year of high-school, Oishi recalled the day it had been taken as quickly and as clearly as if had been only yesterday.

_"Saa, Oishi. It's not a wide-angle lens," Fuji teased. "Get closer."_

_Oishi blushed, but Kikumaru hooked an arm around his neck and pulled his eye at Fuji. "It's not his fault your camera's cheap, Fujiko."_

_Lowering the camera, head tilted, Fuji had nodded once. "You're right," he said pleasantly, agreeably, making as though to put the camera back into his bag. "I couldn't possibly take a picture of my two good friends with such a cheap camera."_

_"Fujiiiii," Kikumaru whined. "Stop messing around! We only have a few minutes!"_

_Laughing softly, Fuji took out the camera again and Oishi turned his head. Kikumaru was there, face inches from Oishi's, and when he spoke, his breath smelled like the green apple bubblegum he'd begged off of Marui Bunta. "Look in my eyes, Oishi," he said. His lips were pursed and his voice sounded the way it always did when he pouted. "We'll win, right?"_

_Nodding solemnly, because his brain was too scrambled to allow for his doing anything else, Oishi looped his arm around Kikumaru's back and had to struggle not to let his eyes close with pleasure when he curled his fingers around Kikumaru's hip. "We will," he promised. His voice was rough with emotion and he knew if ever there was a time to confess his feelings to Kikumaru, this was it. With the sun bright in Kikumaru's hair and his eyes so clear and true, Oishi could feel the words forming, wanting to badly to be heard. But then Fuji's shutter clicked three or four times and Kikumaru looked away._

_"Fuji! We weren't ready!" he complained, stomping his foot for emphasis, and still Oishi did not let go._

_"You were," Fuji disagreed. "It's good, you'll see."_

_And then Kikumaru moved away to drape himself over Fuji's shoulders and poke at the camera, still complaining, and the sudden absence of warmth that Kikumaru's abandonment caused made him shiver inside his jersey. The sun slid behind a cloud and Oishi popped his collar._

That day, and on all the ones that followed, Oishi could never bring himself to confess. They'd won the Nationals that year, and the year that followed as well, but by then it was nothing new. Nothing special. And then they'd chosen separate colleges and separate paths and separate lives and Oishi was still stuck in limbo – living in a past that it made it impossible to love anyone else and yet impossible to let go of what Kikumaru had been to him. What they'd been to _each other_.

"Oishi-san?" Narita prompted, leaning in to peer curiously at Oishi. She noticed the picture he held and smiled a little. Her eyes were bright and her smile was sweet and sincere. "Oh, it's you! You haven't changed much over the years, have you?"

Oishi laughed, in spite of himself. "It's not been ten years, Narita-san. You'll make me feel old."

She laughed, too, braving the distance to smooth the creased corner of the photo. "He was a friend?"

"The best," Oishi replied. "For years. We were partners."

"You played doubles," she said, as though it made perfect sense to her. "I know you were a good partner."

Surprised, Oishi looked up. "You do?"

"Aa," she agreed, nodding. "You would never let anyone down. You'd be a great support."

Flattered, humbled, Oishi slid the photo from her fingertips and tucked it into the pocket of his jacket. "He never let me down, either. Not when it counted."

"Oishi-san," she said, eyes dark and serious as she gazed up at him. "I'm sorry for what's happened here today, but I feel as though we have been good enough friends that I can tell you what I think."

Oishi froze. Surely, after all that had happened, she wouldn't confess to him. Not after he'd just been fired. _Would she_?

"Okay," he said, apprehensive and unable to pretend to be anything else.

Pushing the box into his arms, she offered him a bright smile. "You're a good man. A smart man and an honorable man. You'll land on your feet, I'm sure of it." She nodded, as though to punctuate her words, and unclipped Oishi's badge from his jacket.

"You'll call me when you're settled someplace else, ne? We can still have lunch together, it just won't be here."

Smiling, Oishi hefted the box and ignored the heavy, solid feeling that had settled firmly into his chest. He had to smile, to be strong. If only here, where she could see him.

"I will," he said. "I'll call you."

She walked away first, turning near Matsumoto's office, and waved to Oishi. Then she was gone, and Oishi moved toward the stairs. It was strange to realize that he'd never take the elevator again, never use the stairs or greet the secretary again. Starting tomorrow, there would be no such thing as a typical morning routine. At least, not until he created a new one in some other office with some other co-workers, doing a job that meant absolutely nothing to him.

By the time he reached the train station, he no longer held his head up high. He didn't notice his surroundings, he didn't murmur hello to little old ladies or smile at babies or think about what he'd do after work. The tears stung his eyes, all the way home, but he refused to let them fall.

<☆ ☆ ☆

Tipping his face to the night sky, Kikumaru held up his champagne glass and giggled. He felt certain, as bright and shiny as they were, that the stars were giggling with him.

The restaurant's door opened and Gakuto appeared. He looked impatient, pissed off and _short_. Kikumaru giggled again.

"What in the hell are you doing out there?" Gakuto demanded, glancing over his shoulder once to make certain that the wait staff couldn't hear him. "Where were you raised, anyway? In the wilderness?"

"No," Kikumaru said, suddenly serious. "About thirty miles from here, actually."

Exasperated, Gakuto stalked outside, letting the door swing shut behind him. "You can't stand out in the courtyard and drink. We're not in Kabukicho, idiot."

"Gakkun," Kikumaru began, turning in a slow circle to see if the stars made more sense from a different angle. "Do you know what love feels like?"

"Yes," Gakuto deadpanned. "And right now, I'd _love_ it if you'd get your ass back inside the restaurant before the second course is brought out."

"Pfft. Like they'll miss me. They've got those American investors in there to suck up to. I'm the last one they'll miss."

"Don't be ridiculous," Gakuto said, taking Kikumaru's glass and holding it out of his reach. "And stop spinning, you look like a retard. Matoh has no idea that you're planning to sell your stock to those dirty baboons and you'd better make sure he doesn't figure it out, either, or else we're really going to be in trouble."

Kikumaru laughed. "Oh, Gakkun. Matoh knows. Why do you think he's sitting inside, sharing dinner with the baboons in the first place? He wants to know what I'm up to."

"Great," Gakuto spat, glancing down at the glass he held. Kikumaru knew that Gakuto wanted to throw the contents on him – he could see it in his eyes.

"Why are you getting drunk and acting like you don't care whether he figures it out or not?"

"Becaaaauuuuse," Kikumaru drawled dramatically. "He's counting on your stock and mine and that's it. Even now, he's got his partner calling every backup investor they can think of to try to save his crappy ass company. He doesn't know about our _secret weapon_."

Scowling, Gakuto drained Kikumaru's glass. "Don't call him that. Especially anyplace where he might actually _hear_ you."

"Relax," Kikumaru said, taking Gakuto's beer bottle and having a long swallow. "Yuushi'll come through. And if it gets ugly, he'll call Atobe."

"Beh," Gakuto said, tipping his chin up and allowing Kikumaru to hold the bottle while he took a drink. Wiping his mouth with the back of his glove after, he glanced back toward the restaurant. No one had come looking for them, yet. "I hate that."

"Don't," Kikumaru told him seriously. "That's what friends are for, you know? To help you out when you're ready to crash and burn. If Atobe wants to strut his pretty peacock feathers every time we see him, you shut up and swallow it like a man. Because nobody would give that kind of money to anyone he didn't consider a friend."

" _Give_ money? Yuushi's already told you that, if Atobe is forced to intervene, we have to pay to have the profits laundered. And then he'll want a cut of _that_!"

Gakuto trailed off, cursing a blue streak about greedy bastards and stupid redheads and slow-talking con-men. But Kikumaru only hiccupped.

"It's not illegal, stupid. It's just..."

"Unethical?" Gakuto supplied helpfully. "Bad for our country's economy? Morally bankrupt?"

Kikumaru winced. "Don't say 'bankrupt'. And no, actually. It's innovative."

At Gakuto's sharp glare, Kikumaru grinned. "Okay, and so it's a little sneaky. It doesn't matter. At the end of the day, everybody goes home happy."

"Except Matoh," Gakuto reminded him. "He goes home without a company and ass-sore for the millions of yen we raped him out of."

Kikumaru shrugged. "And that. But he deserves it. He killed his sister's dog when he was a kid; he told me."

"What a shit," Gakuto said, taking the last sip of beer and wresting the bottle away from Kikumaru. "How'd you even find him, any-"

"Hold on," Kikumaru interrupted. "Got a call."

Gakuto stood, expression carefully, exaggeratedly patient while Kikumaru blathered into his phone. Talking too fast for anyone to really understand, Kikumaru managed to effectively communicate for three or four minutes before closing his phone and slipping it back into his pocket.

"I gotta go," he said, taking off his hat and cramming it onto Gakuto's head. "Your ears are all cold and red; cover them up."

"Go?" Gakuto said, taking off the ridiculous knit hat and smoothing his hair down again. "You can't go yet! We're going to the theatre after!"

"Too bad," Kikumaru said, leaning in to press a big smooch to Gakuto's cheek. "Oishi needs me and I'm going."

Wiping his face quickly, frowning his displeasure, Gakuto followed Kikumaru back toward the restaurant. He had to take double steps to keep up and Kikumaru lengthened his strides just enough to make the trek back interesting.

"What do you mean, 'needs' you? How gay is that?"

To be honest, Kikumaru hoped that it would be very gay, indeed, but didn't say so to Gakuto. "This place has mooncake, right?"

"Yes?" Gakuto answered, skilled at following Kikumaru's oddball trains of thought. "Why? You are _not_ leaving a business dinner to go feed Oishi _mooncake_!"

"Sure I am," Kikumaru said. "You can take it from here. Don't forget to call Yuushi after, okay?"

When Gakuto didn't answer right away, simply followed along behind Kikumaru, fuming, Kikumaru grinned over his shoulder.

"Hoi, Gakkun."

"What?" Gakuto responded, holding the door when Kikumaru pushed it open hard.

"You got really runty legs."

Gakuto shoved him with his free hand, straightening as soon as they were inside again. Kikumaru laughed and made a beeline for the cake counter; he had a damsel in distress to rescue.

Or something like that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The more things change, the more they stay the same. [future timeline]

☆ ☆ ☆

Oishi was seated on the sofa, patting his face dry, when he heard the knock at the door. He'd been stronger than steel on the train and the short few blocks to his apartment, but the moment he'd safely closed the door behind him, the tears had begun. Three hours after that, he fell asleep and three hours after _that_ , he'd finally given in and called Kikumaru.

It had taken him 45 minutes to make a decision as to whether or not he should call. Kikumaru had seemed eager to hear from him, yes, but Oishi couldn't dispel the nagging feeling that perhaps Kikumaru would only want to see him when he wasn't an emotional landmine. In the end, though, he'd called and – to his surprise and relief – Kikumaru had responded exactly as Oishi had hoped he might. With a few gentle assurances and a request for Oishi's address, he'd told him to wash his face and calm down and he'd be there as soon as he could hop on the train.

Pressing the cool washcloth to his face for a moment and taking a deep breath, Oishi opened the door to greet Kikumaru and, immediately upon laying eyes on him, promptly forgot whatever it was he'd intended to say.

Hair fluffy and bright, cheeks flushed, smart black coat buttoned all the way up to his chin, Kikumaru stood on Oishi's doorstep, the barest hint of a smile visible above his collar. "It's cold!" he said from behind the coat's collar, and Oishi remembered himself and stepped back quickly.

"Come in, Eiji," he said, reaching out to take hold of his arm and guide him into the apartment. "You'll catch cold."

Laughing, Kikumaru stood still while Oishi unwound his scarf and stood close while he unfastened the buttons of his coat. "I'm resilient."

Leaning to peek out of the window, Oishi clutched Kikumaru's scarf close to his chest. "Earlier, I thought it might snow."

"Gakuto said so, too. But I'll tell you what I told him."

Oishi was quiet, waiting for Kikumaru to finish.

"It's not going to snow," he finally said, and Oishi laughed, turning toward the small living area and motioning to an empty chair.

"You can just lay your coat down there."

Kikumaru nodded, wriggling out of his coat and tossing it on the chair with a flourish. It slid off to land on the floor and he shrugged, leaving it where it lay and swinging the small bag he carried.

"So," Oishi began. "You were with Gakuto tonight?"

Sizing him up shrewdly, Kikumaru leaned in close to peer at Oishi – so close that Oishi sucked in a breath and took a step back, blushing hotly. Kikumaru merely continued to observe him suspiciously.

"Hm. Does that bother you?"

"No, of course not," Oishi lied. "Why would that bother me? I mean, you're friends and you seem to be in business together and you're both clearly very important to each other so I can't imagine why I would ever-"

"Oishi," Kikumaru said, interrupting his rambling monologue.

Looking guilty, and still a little embarrassed, Oishi met Kikumaru's eyes hesitantly. "What?"

Toeing off his shoes and kicking them against the wall, Kikumaru moved to kneel at the small table in the center of the room. "Relax, it's just me. You don't have to get all wound up."

"Wound up?" Oishi repeated, even more embarrassed for having been called on his embarrassment. "I'm not wound up."

"Yes, you are," Kikumaru said calmly, taking out carefully wrapped cakes and laying them on the table. "And if you were relaxed, you probably wouldn't have called me in the first place." Patting the carpet, Kikumaru looked up at Oishi, offering him a disarming smile. "Come and sit with me. Didn't you call me to come over here and turn that frown upside down?"

"I-I suppose so," he admitted, taking a seat across from Kikumaru and eyeing the cakes. "What are those?"

Kikumaru rolled his eyes, as though it should be obvious what they were. "Mooncakes. Mooncakes for the Moon Volley specialist!"

Oishi laughed, shaking his head though it was obvious that Kikumaru's silliness pleased him. "Silly."

From across the table, Kikumaru smiled faintly at Oishi. "Yeah, I am. But maybe you need silly right now, nya Oishi?"

He did, Oishi realized. He needed silly. He needed _Kikumaru_. "I guess that's why I called you."

"You'd better believe that's why you called me," he said, sounding very satisfied with himself. "Do you want tea? Why don't I go make tea?"

Oishi moved as if to rise, but Kikumaru was already on his feet. "I can do it. I'll find everything."

When Oishi didn't respond right away, Kikumaru winked. "Trust me."

"I do," he said, surprising himself with the immediacy and sincerity of his answer. Kikumaru paused, holding the moment between them for a moment before he smiled.

"Some things don't change, Oishi."

Lowering himself to the carpet again, Oishi began to peel open one of the cakes that Kikumaru had left while he pondered his words. Listening to Kikumaru move around in his kitchen, bumping around and rummaging for whatever he required, Oishi thought he'd never heard truer words spoken. _Some things don't change_.

When Kikumaru returned from the kitchen, he'd rolled up his sleeves and opened the top two buttons of his shirt. He ate up the space, the air, in the apartment and Oishi couldn't take his eyes away. The hollow of his throat was nothing more than a shadow in the room’s low lighting, but it drew Oishi’s attention as effectively as if he’d been wearing no shirt at all.

"Did you find everything?"

"Of course I did. I could find my way around in here with a blindfold on, Oishi. I know you. Remember?"

He sat down again – next to Oishi this time – and tugged on a strand of Oishi's hair. "One hair fang today?" he teased, laughing when Oishi immediately smoothed his hair back with the flat of his hand.

"I took a shower earlier and then I feel asleep." He laughed, touching his forehead again, self-conscious. "I hope I don't look too ridiculous."

Laying his hand over Oishi's, brushing his hair aside tenderly, Kikumaru shook his head. "Oishi. Don't."

Oishi didn't speak, but he wasn't in any hurry to have Kikumaru stop touching him, either. Closing his eyes, he sighed softly and tilted his head when Kikumaru brushed his temple with the sides of his fingers. The look on his face and the soft sound he made revealed his feelings for Kikumaru, in that moment, the way words would never quite be able to manage.

"What happened, Oishi?" Kikumaru asked, voice uncharacteristically quiet. "You were so upset when you called..."

Finally, Oishi turned his head and Kikumaru's hand fell away. "It's too humiliating to say," he whispered.

"Maybe," Kikumaru said. "But even so, you can tell me about it."

He shifted, knee bumping the box Oishi had slid beneath the table and he touched it with curious fingertips. "We never had secrets from each other when we were kids, ne? I don't see why we would need to have them now."

Oishi didn't look up, couldn't look up. There was one very big secret he'd kept from Kikumaru when they were growing up and, even now, he couldn't bring himself to confess.

"Oishi," Kikumaru said, warning clear in the tone of his voice, but when Oishi still did not look up, he sighed heavily. "Okay fine. You tell me your secret and then you can ask one of me. Deal?"

Finally, Oishi glanced up, surprised. "That's ridiculous. We're not children."

Scratching his cheek, Kikumaru pursed his lips, considering. "You know, Gakuto said something about my age earlier tonight. You guys are making me feel bad."

Ready to apologize, Oishi's eyes widened and Kikumaru laughed. "Hold that thought. Lemme get the tea."

Hands folded in his lap, Oishi fought the urge to fidget. Kikumaru seemed so open to whatever Oishi might say, but no matter how strong his resolve, he simply couldn't straighten the words out in his mind. It was almost as though Kikumaru wanted him to confess. Though, if that were truly the case, wouldn't he simply confess on his own? It wasn't like Kikumaru to hold back.

When Kikumaru returned, setting the teapot and two cups on the table, he hummed idly to himself as he worked.

"Eiji?"

"Hm?" Kikumaru responded. "Two sugars?"

"Mm," Oishi nodded. "Eiji, where were you tonight? You got here rather quickly."

"Ginza," Kikumaru answered. "Gakkun and I were entertaining a couple of associates." He laughed, thinking about it. "When you called, I was outside, stargazing, wishing I was someplace else."

"Oh?" Oishi prompted, half-afraid to let himself hope. "You weren't having a good time?"

"Not especially. I was running out of ways to stretch the truth."

Oishi narrowed his eyes, then. "Eiji. What do you do, exactly?"

Stirring Oishi's tea, Kikumaru glanced at him once, grinning mischievously. "Maybe that's _my_ secret, eh?"

At the sudden, flat expression on Oishi's face, Kikumaru snickered, sliding a teacup toward him. "I'm only kidding, Oishi. Why? What do you think I do?"

"I have no idea," Oishi admitted. "You seem to be doing well for yourself, no matter how shady it all seems."

Kikumaru laughed then. "Shady. You really have no idea."

"Does that mean you won't tell me?" Oishi asked, and Kikumaru smiled.

"Do the words 'hostile takeover' mean anything to you?"

Oishi blinked, sipping his tea slowly. "I suppose. Like, Yakuza?"

"Yes, Oishi. Yakuza. Mukahi Gakuto and I are Yakuza and I hate to say this, but you're a marked man now, too. Having associated with me publicly and all that."

Eyes widening, Oishi set his cup down, his mind racing. Marked man? Would he have to go into hiding? What would he tell his parents? But then he began to imagine days and weeks and months blending one into the next while he hid from the world. With Kikumaru.

"Are you in trouble, then?"

Bowing his head, shoulders shaking with suppressed amusement, Kikumaru finally glanced up and beamed a wide, bright smile at Oishi. "Oh, Oishi. Never change."

Realizing that he'd been had, Oishi frowned and picked up his cup again. Briefly, he contemplated not eating the cake Kikumaru had brought him - just in the interests of expressing his irritation at having been teased so callously.

"Fine. Don't tell me."

Giggling, Kikumaru shifted to stretch out on his back, resting his head in Oishi's lap. Almost immediately, Oishi froze, though Kikumaru seemed – or pretended – not to notice.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry. You're right, though. Gakkun and I are doing rather well for ourselves. It's like this: someone tips me off when a company is in trouble. I use the knowledge and connections to buy up just enough stock to make them vulnerable to a buyout. Foreign investors are very fond of me," he said, waggling his eyebrows.

Frowning, Oishi gazed down at him, wondering at the beautiful shape of his mouth – even upside down as he was. "I wouldn't think many companies would be at risk for that. I don't encounter many corporations that allow foreign investors at all."

"Well, that's true. In those cases, I have to buy the stock myself until the investor comes through."

"That's risky," Oishi said, disapproving.

Kikumaru laughed. "Yeah, but I can afford it."

"It's not as glamorous as it sounds," Kikumaru added, fingernails scritching at the side of Oishi's goya box.

Sipping his tea, Oishi maintained his silence. He didn't think it sounded glamorous at all, no matter how many hostesses Kikumaru's money could buy. Thinking about them, and about Gakuto, made Oishi nauseous and he sat his cup down again, just as Kikumaru hooked a finger in the box and began to tug it close to him.

"I got fired today," he said, voice hushed. "I couldn't do the work. Can’t focus, can't succeed."

Looking up sharply, Kikumaru said, "Don't ever say that again."

Taken aback, Oishi stared down at Kikumaru. His expression was stern, though he didn't seek to move away. Oishi sat, kneeling on the floor with Kikumaru's head propped in his lap, unable to think of a single thing to say. His hands hung uselessly at his side, knuckles resting against the carpet. Finally, he murmured, "It's the truth."

"Bullshit," Kikumaru said, plucking Oishi's book from the box without bothering to ask if Oishi minded. He didn't seem concerned, surprised, upset by Oishi's revelation and Oishi began to wonder if his incompetence were so visible to everyone as it seemed to be to Kikumaru.

"You don't seem surprised," was all that he could say, numb while Kikumaru flipped idly through the book.

"I am," he protested. "But..."

Trailing off for a moment, he sighed, tracing a small black and white picture of Sasaki Sadako. "She didn't really make a thousand paper cranes, you know."

Oishi nodded. "I know."

"That's the way life is, I guess. Sometimes you just...run out of time. No matter how good your intentions were."

Laying the book aside, Kikumaru reached up to close his fingers around Oishi's arms. "You'll find another job, Oishi. What does it matter in the long run? There are things that matter more."

Cheeks flushed, breath quickening, Oishi licked his lips nervously and tried to ignore the flash of heat that Kikumaru's mere touch on his bare skin brought.

"Is that it? Your secret?" Kikumaru asked, and just as Oishi was on the verge of nodding his head yes, he hesitated. His heart was pounding – he wondered if Oishi could hear it. In an instant, a million thoughts were his: himself and Kikumaru, inseparable for so long, parting ways when they should have only grown closer, saying goodbye to his family when he moved closer to the city for work, writing Kikumaru letters in care of his family that he never found the nerve to send, Kikumaru in the club, his last day at work, the way his hands had trembled when he held Kikumaru's business card to place the most important phone call of his life.

Kikumaru, under a cold night sky with Gakuto while Oishi lay on his futon and cried for all the things that he simply could not have. Looking at stars that Oishi couldn't see.

"No," he finally said, voice stronger than it had been in days. Weeks. Years. "That wasn't it."

Kikumaru waited, eyes so big and bright in the dim lighting of Oishi's aquarium. After a moment, he turned his head slowly, rubbing his cheek against Oishi's thin, soft pants, against his thigh.

"I love you," Oishi said, swallowing past the lump in his throat, past the hollow thump of his heart. Kikumaru closed his eyes, as though Oishi's words pained him, somehow. For a moment – one long, expectant, painful moment – Oishi considered the possibility that Kikumaru would not return his feelings. His chest ached, his stomach vaulted, his throat tightened.

"Eiji," he began, wanting – needing – to bridge the gap somehow, but the words wouldn't come and the pain wouldn't stop and Kikumaru had yet to even open his eyes.

He turned then, rolling to one side and then all fours. Oishi's back was pressed tightly to the small sofa when Kikumaru braced one hand on Oishi's thigh and lay the other against the side of Oishi's face.

Oishi could do nothing but stare when Kikumaru's thumb stroked his cheekbone lazily. Looking away just long enough to glance at Oishi's mouth, Kikumaru met his eyes again when he said, "I never went to bed with a woman that I didn't see your eyes, Oishi. Your pretty, pretty eyes..."

"You've had many women?" Oishi couldn't help asking, breathless for the rapid pace of his heartbeat.

"Yeah," Kikumaru said, at once regretful and sheepish. "You?"

Shaking his head, Oishi blushed when he murmured, "One."

That it hadn't been right and he hadn't been tempted to try it a second time didn't need to be said.

Tracing the line of Oishi's jaw, Kikumaru tilted his head, brows drawn in the most intense manner of concentration when he passed his thumb over Oishi's lips. "Have you ever had a man?"

Tensing, Oishi inhaled sharply. His lips were parted – his tongue dangerously close to Kikumaru's thumb – and he could swear his teeth would chatter if didn't do something soon to stop it. He shook his head and bit his lip when Kikumaru slid his hand up his thigh.

"Do you want to?"

The look on his face must have been answer enough because, before Oishi could say a word, Kikumaru was leaning in, closing his eyes – kissing Oishi's mouth so slow and soft and sweet.

"Oishi," he breathed. "Just tell me you want to."

Tilting his head, lifting one hand to mirror Kikumaru's gesture and finally, finally, touching him the way he'd always wanted to, Oishi could only nod. He couldn't recall a time when he didn't want to. Even before he'd had any idea that two boys could fall in love the way a boy and a girl could fall in love.

Kikumaru kissed him, then. Kissed him purposefully, possessively, the way he hadn't just before. It was only instinct that led him to ease both arms around Kikumaru's neck to return his kisses, his embrace, and when Kikumaru rose over him to straddle his lap, Oishi's mind reeled with the certainty that – tonight – everything was going to change.

"I don't know what to do," he admitted, tasting Kikumaru's lips and unwilling to let him go even long enough to get him out of his clothing.

"We'll figure it out," Kikumaru assured him, voice muffled against Oishi's neck as he slid the palms of his hands along Oishi's back. "Do you have anything? You know, to make it," he paused, sunk his teeth into Oishi's earlobe. " _Easy_?"

Eyes closed, Oishi sucked in a breath. He opened his eyes, though, when he realized precisely to what Kikumaru was referring.

 _Oh_.

"I don't know," he said honestly, because he had absolutely no idea what ordinary toiletries could double as...a substance to make it _easy_.

Kissing his neck, his jaw, his cheek, Kikumaru drew back with a sweet smile and brushed Oishi's hair back fondly. "I'll go check. You just wait for me."

He was quick on his feet when he moved away – flipping on the bathroom light to rummage through Oishi's cabinets for the second time that night – and Oishi didn't waste time while he was gone. He moved quickly, turning back the blanket on his futon and pushing the pillows up against the long line of cabinets that supported his aquarium. He glanced up once to see his crab tapping one claw against the glass before the cardinal fish whizzed by to knock him off his rock and back into the water. Oishi pressed his fingers to the glass, soothed by the cool water beneath, and startled when Kikumaru returned.

"I found something," he said, glancing once at the futon as he joined Oishi before the aquarium. Smiling wanly, he held out a hand to Oishi, hauling him to his feet when he took it. "Whenever I would think of you, Oishi, I'd wonder if you had an aquarium, wherever you were."

Stepping close, Oishi slipped his arms around Kikumaru's waist and rested his head on his shoulder. "All you had to do was ask."

Dropping the bottle of lotion onto the futon, Kikumaru lifted the edges of Oishi's shirt, slow when he began to ease it up along his torso. When he'd raised the shirt to cover the lower half of Oishi's face, he paused again. "Now I don't have to."

He pulled the shirt over Oishi's head, tossed it aside and pressed both hands against Oishi's ribcage. "I wanted you too, Oishi. In some way that didn't make sense and made me feel like someone not myself."

Nodding, Oishi began to free the buttons of Kikumaru's shirt – from the bottom up – and made some soft, entreating sound when Kikumaru's knuckles brushed his belly. He was distracted, excited, but as he eased the shirt away from Kikumaru's shoulders and bent to kiss the hollow of his throat that had so tempted him earlier, he murmured, "Eiji. Are you and Gakuto...?"

Kneeling before Oishi, hooking his fingers in the waistband of Oishi's pants, Kikumaru glanced up. "Still at each other's throats? Yes."

Tugging Oishi's pants down, biting his lip when Oishi's underwear caught on the head of his cock, Kikumaru slid his hands around to squeeze his buttocks. Muscles immediately clenching, Oishi hissed and helped Kikumaru roll both his pants and his underwear down his thighs. Kikumaru became very still then and Oishi grew hot under his intense scrutiny. He watched, barely daring to breathe, when Kikumaru's pink tongue passed over his bottom lip as he leaned in close to Oishi's groin. His eyes were glazed and his lips were parted and Oishi almost spoke his name just that split second before he pressed his lips to the tip of Oishi's cock.

Jerking, Oishi cried out, fingers sliding into Kikumaru's hair when Kikumaru sucked gently at him. Just the tip, at first, and further along the length and breadth of him when Oishi moaned his pleasure.

"Please..." Oishi whispered, not at all sure if he were asking for more or asking Kikumaru to stop. He was perilously close to losing control, either way. He wondered, wildly, if Kikumaru wanted him to lose control – did he intend that Oishi be the one to surrender first? But then he was tugging Oishi down beside him, guiding him to the futon to sit while he wriggled out of his own pants and underwear.

Crawling up next to him, stretching out beside him, Kikumaru moved easily into Oishi's arms, burrowing against him as though he were seeking the same sort of solace that Oishi needed so badly.

He took Oishi's hand, guided it to his own cock, wincing, whimpering when Oishi gripped him firmly and slipped one leg between Oishi's. With one hand at the small of Oishi's back, Kikumaru squirmed against him, arching when his dick nudged Oishi's belly.

" _Oishi_."

Oishi could not answer, could not imagine what Kikumaru wanted to hear when they began to move against one another. Touching him as he might touch himself, Oishi stroked Kikumaru's cock slowly, tightly, delighting in the miniscule amount of fluid that streaked the heel of his hand. "What?" he whispered, tilting his head into the pillow and kissing Kikumaru again. This kiss was hotter, less controlled now. _Deeper_.

Kikumaru grunted, gripping Oishi's buttocks hard to thrust against him. "There's nothing between Gakuto and me," he managed, shifting to rub his thigh against Oishi's dick. "There never has been."

Oishi turned, rolling Kikumaru to his back and squeezing his eyes closed tightly when Kikumaru held him tightly to thrust against him. Bending to him, Oishi kissed his neck, his chest, his pale, hard nipples, and nudged his legs apart with his knees when he moved closer, still.

"I didn't want to think about it," he admitted, breathless. "To think about you that way, with someone else."

"Don't," Kikumaru said, gripping the back of Oishi's neck to kiss him hard, deep. "Think about _this_."

Moving away, leaning up once to press a kiss to Oishi's jaw, Kikumaru rolled to one side – away from Oishi – and slid him a glance over his shoulder. Unable to question his actions, unable to reason at all, Oishi touched Kikumaru's lower back to guide him onto his belly. Kneeling over him, Oishi touched him carefully. Trailing a finger down the line of his back, cupping his buttocks, touching the backs of his thighs. But then Kikumaru got to his knees, spreading his legs a bit, and Oishi slipped one hand between his legs to rub his balls with the flat of his hand.

"Eiji," he whispered, unable to quite believe his daring and his good fortune and the feelings that he'd nearly let of for want of understanding. The feelings that Kikumaru seemed not only to understand, but to _return_.

"Get the lotion," Kikumaru said, clutching the pillow to his chest and wrapping his arms around it. "You're big, Oishi, you have to get me ready."

Blushing, both with pride and bashfulness, Oishi did as Kikumaru instructed. With the smallest of noises and the barest shift of his hips, Kikumaru taught Oishi how to touch him inside. Oishi closed his eyes, bit his lip, when he slid a finger into Kikumaru and felt his muscles grip him snugly. It all seemed so surreal – so amazing – and Oishi didn't realize that he and Kikumaru were breathing entirely in sync until he was seated completely within him. He knew then that, if Kikumaru moved even one muscle, it would all be over.

"I can't believe..." Oishi said, words fading when he grasped Kikumaru's hips to find that his hands were slick with sweat. "Does this hurt?"

Dreading his answer, not wanting to think that Kikumaru could not feel the same pleasure, Oishi rubbed his back, nudged his legs wider apart so that he was nearly resting in Oishi's lap.

Tense, jaw rigid, Kikumaru clutched the pillow even as he pushed back against Oishi. "In a good way," he said. "Move closer, Oishi. Lean over me."

Sliding forward, Oishi wrapped his arms around Kikumaru's waist, palms splayed against his ribs when he rocked into him three, four, five times. Kikumaru was tight – slick – all restrained energy and power beneath Oishi's chest.

Oishi rolled his hips once, unable to resist, and Kikumaru arched his back and muffled a scream into the pillow. Choking back a moan, Oishi pressed his cheek to Kikumaru's shoulder and shoved into him hard, fast, with no real rhythm to speak of. Kikumaru's hand bumped his own when he reached beneath himself to grip his cock. Distantly, Oishi realized that he should have been the one to do that, but he simply didn't have the presence of mind and, shortly thereafter, he pressed his mouth to Kikumaru's back and gave himself over to a pleasure the likes of which he hadn't known existed.

He should have known better, he told himself, feeling Kikumaru moving restlessly beneath him as jerked his cock fast.

With Kikumaru, everything was always so much more than it would have been without him. Oishi wondered, as Kikumaru turned to wrap his arms tight around Oishi's back, why the simplest things seemed to be the hardest to learn.

Sleepy, clingy, Oishi burrowed beneath the blankets with Kikumaru pressed tightly against him and – for the first time in a very long time – he didn’t need the rain against his windows and the sound of the aquarium to help him fall asleep.

Tomorrow, he wouldn't even remember closing his eyes.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

Eiji scratched his belly and didn't bother to cover his yawn when he turned the doorknob and pushed open the door to the apartment he shared with Gakuto. Idiot had left the door unlocked all night – was he trying to get robbed?

"Gakkun," he called, voice thick with contentment and lack of sleep. He'd left Oishi's bed just before the sun had begun to rise and the events of the last 12 hours were catching up with him, at last.

The magnitude of what he'd done – the reality of it – lent him a sense of freedom, of _rightness_ that, until now, had managed to elude him. What he loved the most was that he didn't have to promise Oishi forever because Oishi knew what forever meant and would see it for what it was. That's what he'd missed the most, when he and Oishi had gone their separate ways: being understood without having to say a single word.

"Gakuto? You'd better not be dead in there or something. It'd serve you right, though, for leaving the damned door un-"

Trailing off, Kikumaru fell silent when his gaze fell on the sofa in the front room. Stretched out on the sofa, quite naked, was Oshitari Yuushi. Covered by a not-so-strategically placed pink blanket and an equally naked Mukahi Gakuto, Oshitari appeared to be sleeping just as soundly as Oishi had been when Kikumaru had left him that morning.

"locked," he finished lamely, tossing his jacket on the chair and trying not to stare at Gakuto's naked ass. It wasn't easy – pale, pasty, round little thing that it was – and when Kikumaru looked away, he found himself staring into Oshitari's bleary, early-morning gaze.

"Good morning," he said, all politeness. He really did have the prettiest manners. Kikumaru didn't have a clue why Gakuto continued to insist that he was sleazy.

"As good as yours, I'd wager," Kikumaru said. " _This_ is an unexpected turn of events."

"Isn't it, though?" Oshitari asked. "Gakkun does love a good bottle of Dom. Or two. Or maybe even three."

"You got him drunk? How original."

Shrugging lightly, Oshitari pulled the blanket up to cover Gakuto, exposing the long, pale expanse of his own thigh in the process. "Desperate times call for desperate measures."

"Tell me about last night," Kikumaru said, grinning.

"Well," Oshitari drawled, patting Gakuto's ass smugly. "Let's just say that I didn't have to call Atobe."

"Excellent," Kikumaru said.

"Now," Oshitari smiled. "You tell _me_ about last night."

Turning, Kikumaru laughed softly and waved to Oshitari on his way to the bathroom. He needed a hot bath – his ass was _killing_ him. "I don't think so, Yuushi. Nice try, though."

"Was it worth it?" Oshitari called out after him. "You owe me _that_ much."

Glancing over his shoulder, Kikumaru winked. "You tell me."

When he closed the door behind him, stretching the muscles across the back, he heard Gakuto's voice – low and sleepy. "Shut up, Yuushi. And give me some of that blanket. My ass is cold, you stingy bastard."

Kikumaru met his own eyes in the mirror and smiled. He'd been right earlier. Some things just didn't change. And that was okay, too.

 _Sometimes_.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

The birds were chirping just outside his window when Oishi awoke early that morning. It was cold in the apartment and he'd left his aquarium light on all night. More sobering than both of those realizations, however, was the certainty that Kikumaru was no longer in the apartment.

Sitting up slowly, clutching the blanket to his chest and hoping that the heater wasn't broken _again_ , he took in the clutter of his living area. The teapot and teacups they'd used the night before sat precisely where they'd left them and, just beside them, were the untouched mooncakes Kikumaru had brought with him.

Rubbing his eyes, Oishi squinted at the cakes; one of them was without the crinkly, gold wrapper it had come in. He frowned, puzzled and yet worried that Kikumaru had felt it necessary to leave before Oishi had awakened. Surely Kikumaru was as happy about the way things had turned out as Oishi was. He _had_ to be.

Oishi blushed, remembering the previous night’s events and the unbelievably intimate things they'd done, and he glanced at the empty space on the futon beside him. On the pillow was a gold paper crane, its wing bent to reveal the ink inside.

He picked it up, balanced it in the palm of his hand for a moment before tugging free a folded edge to smooth the paper open in his lap. Kikumaru's bold, familiar handwriting stood out against the delicate marbling of the gold wrapper.

_'Oishi,_

_I hear the platform at Tokyo Tower has the best view of the night sky in the whole city. Eight p.m. tonight – I'll meet you there._

_This time, I want to see the stars in your eyes._

_-Eiji'_

 

 

 

 

 

~ ☼ ~


End file.
